It's weird how easy to fall into the rhythm of things.

It's weird how there's holes in your memories.

You find being called a good doll, a good maid, strangely compelling.

You know that water isn't supposed to have that slightly bitter, slightly metallic, almost sour aftertaste, but you don't complain because good dolls don't complain.

You realize what you're doing again as you're on your knees pushing a cloth across the room, just because your muscles are protesting at the unfamiliar exercise you've been made to do... who knows how many times.

The floor already looks pretty clean to you, but the head maid told you that it must be clean enough to eat off of, so you find yourself going over the entire floor another time, your legs and arms and especially your knees complaining the entire way.

"Come on now." The head maid's voice is strangely detached and distant, her mechanical eyes fixing on you only for a moment before she looks away and starts to walk.

You smoothly rise up, and follow her on slightly trembling legs.

She glances back at you again, expressionless. "It's okay if you can't do it, you know. They'll reform you. You'll be made into a good proper doll, just do your best so minimal changes need to be made."

Other material dolls follow you out of other rooms they were cleaning, but in one a girl is sobbing, her segmented fingers grabbing uselessly at the floor.

The head maid lets out a brief sigh.

You and the other material dolls wait as the head maid goes over to the crying doll and helps her up. "Go to the rebuilding room," she says gently.

The girl starts trembling and crying harder, but nods and gets up to her feet, walks out and down the hall.

The rest of you are silent.

Reacting too much could mean going to the rebuilding room too, and most of the other material dolls are terrified of going there.

The few who aren't have dead or vacant expressions, most of the time.

You follow her into the room where you kneel in front of a row of dildos, and start sucking on them.

You remember that another day you were licking at plastic pussies instead... maybe yesterday?

Your sense of time doesn't feel like it's really there anymore.

The dildo on your mouth is cold, plasticky, slightly bitter, and your head is bobbing back and forth as you suck on it.

You're dimly aware of the head maid going around instructing others, and when she comes to you, her hand settles on your head and gently but firmly pushes you forwards until you're gagging on the dildo, tears forming in your eyes.

"You aren't very good at deepthroating yet. That's something you need to get down-- if it seems too impossible, let me know, and I'll have them modify you for it." The head maid's voice is dispassionate.

The head maid releases her hold on your head, but you keep on pushing in a little further than you can handle, trying to train your gag reflex.

She strokes your head, a rare bit of affection that feels good in this unfeeling world. "Good doll."

A little thrill of pleasure runs through you.

You idly wonder if that was something natural to you, or some mental or physical modification or training.

It doesn't really matter now, does it?